


define humor

by muldertxf



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Closure, Episode: s07e11 Closure, F/M, Post-Episode: s07e11 Closure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 09:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14746574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muldertxf/pseuds/muldertxf
Summary: he tells her he's free.





	define humor

Things go black. Grief and guilt vortex, and burrow deeply into the base of his skull and nestle up his spine. His skin is prickling like an orange peel. It almost tickles. Cursory statements abscently filter through his teeth. He cannot understand himself, and the realization makes the dashboard fuzzy. His vision returns back to normal, however, when he catches her nodding neutrally, hands locked to the wheel; he can’t be speaking  _ all _ nonsense.

 

The road lines shuck beneath them, and are discarded into darkness beyond taillights. It’s as if he can feel the planet turn. He hopes they don’t fall off.

 

In every path they’ve taken, the lines are blurry and the boundaries undefined. To have such a concrete answer to an ongoing, 26 year quest is inane; absolutely alien. An odd sensation rises once more in his chest. Nausea, and something else--this had happened earlier when Samantha had hugged him with blue, wispy arms--he still can’t figure it out. It’s like something is clawing to get out of him and his heart’s going wild.

 

Suddenly, the trees aren’t whizzing behind them. Yellow and white lines settle uneasily. The street is utterly empty, save for the two of them and their shoddy rental. Orangey light looms over the car’s dashboard and slaps across an unfolded map between them. Lurid silence ferments in the dry, Californian air.

 

Scully’s parked the car.

 

“Mulder,” she says.

 

He does not speak, and the strange feeling is beginning to mount from his rib cage...to his heart...to…  _ Oh God, he’s going to be sick. _ Mulder finally raises his gaze to meet hers, eyes pleading for her to  _ just shut up! _

 

Scully starts again.

 

_ Are you alright? _

 

He’s certainly said as much.  _ He’s free _ . Why can’t she believe him? This was always like her, though. Never going with him; disbelief her liferaft.

 

He simply stares at her, lips sucked in. It’s not nausea, he realizes, it’s...

 

Hilarity.

 

Mulder’s shoulders are jerking up and down and his eyes are squinting. A tear tracks down his cheek, and Scully looks on in horror. Rip-roaring laughter tears through the silence.  _ None of this is funny, none of it should be _ , he tells himself.  _ My sister is dead. _ The thought makes his sides ignite in flames.  _ My sister is dead! _

He grins ear to ear now, swiping the wetness from his cheeks as they come. Scully’s eyes are wide in alarm as the car quakes. Her palms are braced against one armrest and the steering wheel, and when she realizes this she admonishes herself, relinquishing the grip.

 

Scully lays the back of her hand to the side of his head. When she does so, her fingers graze his ear, and track into his hair. She’d like to wring the neck of that cigarette smoking son-of-a-bitch, maybe shoot him a few times, and be done with that bastard. She settles for smoothing the back of Mulder’s head, cupping its soft warmth in her right palm.

 

Minutes pass.

 

She says his name again, and this time he stills.

 

“Let’s go home.”


End file.
